


World of Fates

by noctyx (nicrt)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fate Swap, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Roleswap, Unbeta'ed
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23279473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicrt/pseuds/noctyx
Summary: There are some destinies, unavoidable.There are some fates, unchangeable.There are some choices, unforgivable.When the heir to the Wulfric Kingdom, Prince Nyx Ulric, is tasked with bringing the Oracle and his Warden to safety, he is entrusted to the very young hunter, Noctis Izunia, the last of the Lucian people, to guide him through the darkness. But even with the game changed, even with the story altered; no one can truly outrun destiny.
Relationships: Noctis Lucis Caelum/Nyx Ulric
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	World of Fates

**Author's Note:**

> A reimagine of my older reimagine [The Wolf Prince & his Dark Knight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11290638/chapters/25258905). This was also cobbled together on a whim and since I haven't writter FFXV in years... :shrugs: Have at thee though.

When the colosseum was first built, it had been during a time when Galahd was a land of tribes, full of proud but savage warriors. It had been built on the spilled blood and broken bones of slaves, who'd laboured over the stonework for months on end, until they finally perished under the weight of either rock or whip. It had been used for glorious battles, tribe against tribe, with the best of the best coming forward as victors. It had been used as a punishment for the crooked or the blasphemous, sent down to the battleground with rusted weapons only to be slain by the better and bloodthirsty.

It was a piece of their past in the present, still standing strong and proud. Amongst the architectural advancements made, it was the one other thing that was from the ancient days, aside from the castle and her tombs.

Nyx held a forlorn mixture of feelings for it. Whilst he was proud to be Galahdan, there were still parts of his people's history that he could not feel the same for. And it was feelings he couldn't bear to shake off; hadn't tried to, not in the recent years since he had first stepped foot beyond Aconitum's walls.

But it was the only place he'd ever wandered off to, if he needed to clear his mind. Today had been exhausting. From running drills with the Glaives first thing in the morning, and then to joining the council meetings with regards to the kingdom's affairs, until he finally ended it off with a drunken night out with his friends. It sounded typical. A typical day out for the old prince.

But something in his heart felt heavy and he didn't know how to find peace.

He made his way through the ancient corridors at a slow pace. His head still throbbed lightly from the amount of ale he drank, the street performers' music still echoing in his ears. The last bottle of ale was still in his hand. Nyx wasn't sure why he brought it along. No one had insisted on him to take it. But it was dragged along with him, inching closer towards the heart of the massive building.

Which was not as empty as he thought.

There were the sounds of steel clashing in the air, the crackle of magic ghosting along his skin, and the smell of ozone the followed during a warp-strike. Nyx took pause at that. There was a faint grunt of exertion and then a heavy thud on the ground.

His mind sharpened, like a knife suddenly cutting through a haze. Focusing on the sounds and energy in the air around him. There didn't seem to be malintention, no killer's desire surrounding him. The clang of metal rang once more, louder and heavier than before. Another warp-strike. Powerful and fast, sending quakes of magic around them.

Silently, he stepped further into the light; the full moon their only solace from the darkness of night.

He was reckless and furious in his attacks. Flashy too, going by the number of times he decided to continuously wail against the magitek dummies set up with several warp-strikes, each one from a different direction. It was a sequence built up, heightening in strength and speed for each hit he landed. Not all like Nyx's preferred combat style. His was more precise; clean in execution and kill. There wasn't a movement wasted, even when he was playing tricky in a fight. Constantly moving about, around, and over the enemy; never letting them gain the chance to reach him.

This one played it straight. They won't get the chance to reach him, if he didn't give them a chance at all.

His blade- a one-handed sword- was rammed right into the head of a magitek dummy, used like a bludgeon instead of a proper sharp sword. Something in Nyx cringed at that. No weapon should be used in any other way than it was forged for. But with a strong pull, it came away clean and sharp still, the tip hovering right above the dirt as it dangled loosely in its wielder's grip. A careless, almost uncaring handling of the weapon; Nyx's heart cried out again.

Under the moonlight, his hair was tinged a dark blue; his skin, pale and almost snow-like. His face looked young; too young. Nyx frowned as he stared at this strange boy, who moved like a berserked demon. His attire was in all black; different from the usual cool and neutral tones Galahdans preferred. The grip on the hilt tightened slightly, but the boy had finally relaxed. Tilting his face skywards, inhaling deeply; the smell of ozone still distinct. He had his eyes closed and curiosity piqued within Nyx.

_What colour were they? What kind of light did they hold? What awaited, when he finally opened his eyes?_

Blue; the shade of the dark corals on the reefs of Galahd. Dark and dim; like a small flame shuttered behind frosted glass. Exhaustion; as if he'd been fighting for all of his life and that he'd expected no less from the future beyond.

The grip around the hilt tightened again, harder this time. The fire disappeared, replaced by a kind of jagged-like ice. Eyebrows furrowed, eyes squinted; staring at Nyx. And even after being caught, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Even after losing what brilliant light was had in this boy- no, a young man, chin and cheeks smoothed with the years- it'd felt like Nyx was lost in a storm at sea.

_Beautiful. Handsome_, his heart whispered. _Majestic_.

The other's lips twitched in one corner; a movement Nyx became so enraptured with. A smirk formed on the other's face; not unkind, but not pleasant either. Then it smoothed out, lips pursing. Controlled.

The young man held his blade away, so that he wouldn't accidentally impale himself as he bowed low.

"Your Highness," he said. His voice was boyish; it held the same jade that Drautos had too. Still bowing. Waiting.

Nyx had to physically rip himself away from the turmoil of his thoughts. Shaking his head, closing his eyes, willing himself to focus. The ale had him waxing poetry over this stranger. _Poetry deserved_, his heart told him. Nyx dutifully ignored it.

"At ease," he all but whispered. He coughed once.

The young man stood up straight, expression cool. His bow was that of a civilian’s. He didn't hold himself the way a Glaive or Guard would, at attention in the presence of their prince. It was lazy, leaning his weight on one leg and then shifting it on the other. Nyx vaguely realised they were now staring at each other; Nyx in awe, and the other in apprehension, probably.

_Idiot, talk!_ This voice sounded an awful lot like Crowe.

“Should I ask what you’re doing here?” Nyx asked.

The frown didn’t leave his face, but he answered, “What does it look like?”

“Trouble.” Nyx replied, a smile playing on his lips. “Civilians aren’t usually allowed to practice on magitek equipment.” _Nor did they have access to Wulfric magic._

A shrug. “I’m not most people.”

Indeed. Now it was Nyx’s turn to frown.

Wulfric magic was rare because it was magic reserved solely for the royalty. Those who wield it had been blessed by the king once upon a time, before his current slumber. Such as the elite Kingsglaive soldiers and select members of the Crownsguard and Queensward. Barring his friends, who relied on Nyx’s own royal magic.

_Who gave you yours?_

A wolf howled long and loud in the distance. Nyx coughed again to clear his throat. The stranger merely tilted his head.

"Nice blade," Nyx internally winced; heard Libs' obnoxious laughter at the euphemism. "That's not Galdhan-made."

There was a weight in the other's gaze; it felt like an eternity, slightly shuffling under his stare, when he replied, "Yeah."

Silence again.

And then-

"It's Lucian."

Today hadn't actually been a typical day for the prince. Morning drills, afternoon meetings, and wasted evenings followed after a very tense meeting with an unknown audience in the throne room last night. A man, nearly his father's age, stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to throne; his grey eyes watching his queen-mother carefully. And though he was standing at the same level as all the other subjects, he held himself with a regalness that Nyx envied. He wore black leather, the kind that was worn from use and abuse. A sword hung on his back; intricate in details, with engravings too noble to be part of warrior's pride.

Regis Izunia, of Old Lucis. A Hunter commissioned by the Tenebreian Warden-Princess herself.

Nyx could see the man in this younger one. It's in his nose, his cheeks, his jaw. It's in his lithe form and toned physique. It's in his stance; lazy with an air of royalty.

The blade he held had none of the angelic design Regis Izunia's had; it had pieces of automation and gears cobbled together instead. But it was there. The same pattern, the same engravements.

_Lucian_, a voice hissed, spitted out like poison.

He spoke before he could think. "There are no more Lucians."

A flash of something metallic and cold in the other's eyes. Nyx wished he could take it back, could soften the steel and ice in his gaze. The feeling tangled with the need to draw his kukris out and make a slash at his throat.

Another smirk, this one wry. "Yeah, you're right. But how about this? Between you and me, your Highness-"

Ozone in the air, magic raising goosebumps. Hair tickling his chin. Lips against his ear.

"-it'll be our little secret."

**Author's Note:**

> (Noctis.
> 
> He learned his name the next morning, while he was nursing the mother of all hangovers, his royal retinue at his side.
> 
> Son of Regis Izunia. A hunter from Old Lucis.
> 
> And now officially, his bodyguard.)


End file.
